


Tempting Fate

by Unpretty



Series: Magical Girl Avengers [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Magical Girl Avengers, Spanking, Voyeurism, genderbent au, magical girl au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 09:46:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unpretty/pseuds/Unpretty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fandral would wonder, later, if he was just imagining that Heimdall seemed annoyed with him. He would also wonder if this was related to the suspiciously nontoxic flowers that Loki had sent him. [[In the Magical Girl Avengers timeline, this acts as chapter 3.5 in Five Times Heimdall Removed His Helm.]]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tempting Fate

Loki Odinsdóttir was half-naked, sweaty, and alone.

It was the last part that was a source of distress.

"Do you suppose that I look lovely," she seemed to ask no one at all, "bent over the arm of this couch, all panting and heaving with my skirts hiked up to my waist?"

Loki had taken, of late, to debauching herself when she was alone at night. She had also taken to narrating it. It was all part of her very good and entirely well-thought-out plan to drive Heimdall Golden-toothed mad with lust.

Heimdall could hear the very grass grow. Surely, then, it would be difficult to ignore his lovely green-eyed princess crying his name as she brought herself to climax.

Admittedly, things had begun to get a bit out of hand. It had started with just his name, whispered and then screamed. When in the light of day he seemed unmoved, she'd begun to describe what she was doing – and what exactly she had imagined _him_ doing.

He could tell when she was lying, was the trouble. So when she decided that _escalation_ was necessary, she was forced to really – _really_ – escalate. Her actions in the past few weeks hardly befitted a milkmaid, to say nothing of a daughter of Odin.

It was getting _frustrating_ , was what it was. " _Heimdall_ ," she sighed to the empty room, "you cannot ignore me _forever_ , can you?"

It was entirely possible that he _could_ , actually. With an annoyed huff, she undid the laces on her dress, let it fall to the floor and expose her skin to the air. He could see the breeze on a distant planet, it was said; did that mean he could see her, even now?

Best to be sure, she supposed.

She threw the curtains in her bedroom wide, looked down in disgust to where Heimdall stood guard – still unmoving, still _unmoved._

" _Honestly_ , Heimdall," she swore with a scowl, blowing a stray lock of hair out of her face. "Surely you must be at least a _little_ distracted. Are the Jotun so interesting? They will not break the peace, you know. I am certain you can see me. Am I not lovely? Have you not said yourself that my kisses are sweet? Do you tell yourself that your own hands serve as well as I would, when you grow hard at the sound of my debasement?" She ran her hands over her breasts, drew lazy circles around her nipples with her fingers. "If you would only _touch_ me, Heimdall, I'd have no need to do it myself."

Still he did not move.

Loki stomped and huffed and pouted, crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently. "If you're going to be like _that_ ," she said finally, "then perhaps I shall simply give up on you. Would you prefer that? If you will not even _try_ to satisfy me, Heimdall, perhaps I will seek satisfaction with..." She thought for a long moment. " _Fandral_ ," she hissed finally, pressing her palms against her window and leaning against it to watch for any sign of a reaction. "Fandral would lay with me, wouldn't he?"

It wouldn't work if it were a lie. So she imagined it, taking Fandral into her bed and using him to satisfy those hungers that Heimdall refused. He would not please her as would Heimdall – but he was not unattractive. He knew enough of women that, even if Heimdall were _not_ driven to jealousy, at least she would have _someone_ to touch her.

"Yes," she decided, "I will take Fandral to bed, willing and eager, and I will use him as I please. I will scream his name as I ride him, and you will have to listen as he has me in all the ways that _you_ will not."

Loki drew back from her window in alarm as Heimdall turned his head, looked in her direction. Her nudity seemed suddenly much less harmless than it had a moment ago. When he only continued to look, not moving from his post, she licked her lips nervously. They were wicked words, indeed, that waited on her tongue.

"I wonder if Fandral will have the good sense to be _grateful_ for an opportunity to fill me with his cock. Will his seed taste sweet, do you suppose?"

Her face burned and her skin prickled, to have said such a thing. Loki's heart soared with excitement and fear as Heimdall left his post, taking heavy steps down the rainbow bridge. Silvertongue? Guttermouth, more like. What would her mother say?

She was all aflutter, closing her curtains, prodding at her hair with magic to try and make herself look more alluring. Would the dress pooled on the floor be evocative, she wondered, or would it simply make her look slovenly? She hid it, just in case, and tried to find a pose that Heimdall would find enticing.

Still he did not come.

She began to fidget, her mind began to wander. What _would_ her mother say? Surely – _surely_ – Heimdall would not tell her? Would not, fed up with Loki's antics, seek to warn Frigga? Perhaps the threat to draw Fandral into her games had been too much, had gone too far? However would she explain it, if she opened her door all naked and wanting, and found her _mother_ there instead?

It was not a thought to be borne. She could not risk it, absolutely could not. Of _course_ Heimdall would not come to her, of _course_ he would seek to save her from herself.

Loki closed her eyes, let magic flutter over her like snowflakes to wrap her in what she hoped was an innocent-looking dressing gown – dark and high collared and tied shut with too many ribbons.

... but what if Heimdall _did_ come? She could hardly seduce him like this, all wrapped up and tied. She groaned in frustration, burying her face in her hands. Getting a man into her bed should _not_ have been this difficult.

There came a knock – finally, blissfully, a knock to take her out of her own head.  Let it be her mother, if it must; at least then she would be certain. She cracked her door open to peer into the hall – and froze.

Heimdall wasn't wearing his armor. He wore white silks, instead, embroidered with gold thread so that he _shone_.

She was as surprised as if he'd shown up wearing nothing but his own skin.

"Heimdall?" she heard herself saying, in a voice that was surely much too meek to be her own.

"Let me in," he ordered – which was patently ridiculous, that he should think himself capable of ordering _Loki Odinsdóttir_ to do anything at all.

She opened the door.

He picked her up as easily as if she were nothing, spun her about so that as the door closed she was pinned against it. His mouth was hot and tasted of honey, and the sound of pleasure that escaped her was raw and guttural.

"You must stop this, Loki," he urged as she gasped for air, and she laughed breathlessly.

" _Do_ try to make up your mind, Heimdall – if I shall need to call for Fandral, I should like to know soon."

He made a sound that Loki had never heard before, a low growl that seemed to make her fingertips hum as he kissed her again. " _Fandral_ ," he said disdainfully, "is an _oaf_. He will not lay a hand on you." He was making quick work of the ribbons that held her dressing gown closed, letting them flutter to the floor as he tugged them loose. He kissed at each new inch that was bared, beard scratching at her skin, and she groaned as his mouth met her breasts. Her heels dug into the door as her back arched, the hand on her hip still pinning her too high to reach the floor.

"Will he not?" she taunted, digging her fingers into his shoulders for support. "Were I to ask nicely, I think that–"

" _Loki_ ," he warned, and his breath against her skin nearly drove her mad. "Still your tongue."

"Can you think of no better use for it? Other men might–"

He silenced her with another kiss, drawing her tongue into his mouth and pressing the weight of him against her. "Were you not a daughter of Odin, I would bend you over my knee for your impertinence."

"How good of you," she laughed, "that you remember your place." The look he gave her at that was assessing, a strange glint in his eye. "You would not dare," she said, less confident now. This time, when he pressed his lips to hers, he swept her off her feet, carrying her to her couch. "You would not _dare_ ," she repeated shakily, even as he sat and draped her across his lap. She tried to pull herself upright, but his hands held her in place. "Release me at _once_ , Heimdall," she ordered, with an urgency fueled by fear.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, calm and low. Loki bit her lip, ceasing her struggle as she considered the question. It hardly even seemed worth asking, so obvious were the facts of the matter. Was Heimdall trustworthy? He might as well have asked if the sun shone, if water was wet.

" _Obviously_ ," she said with a petulant sniffle, curling her arms underneath her head as she settled herself onto his legs. Her breasts were still bared, pressed against one of his thighs, and she realized she could feel his erection against her stomach. She was sure she was blushing, just as sure as she was that he could tell despite her face being turned away.

She'd imagined this situation involving a lot more control and dignity on her part. And fewer clothes on _his_ part, for that matter.

Her annoyance was forgotten as his hands trailed up the backs of her legs, lifting the hem of her dressing gown until it was up around her waist. He ran his fingers over the curve of her backside, and she sighed contentedly. "You asked, before, if you looked lovely in this state?" His hand came down suddenly, hard and fast, and she cried out in pain and surprise as he struck her. " _Lovely_ is one word for it." He struck her again, a sharp and stinging pain that radiated outward from his palm, and again she cried out. " _Wanton_ is another." Again his hand came down, and she tried to stifle her scream, tears prickling at her eyes despite herself. "Shameless, perhaps."

"How long do you mean to persist in this?" she demanded, squirming and pressing her thighs together. How foolish she felt, already damp and throbbing when he'd done little but scold her like a child. Her question was met with another strike, and she yelped indignantly.

"Until you have admitted that you have been reckless," Heimdall said, and it sounded entirely reasonable until he struck her twice in quick succession.

"I have not the slightest idea to what you refer," Loki lied, swallowing hard. His hand stroked gently at her skin, already turning red where it had met his palm.

"Let us recall a few of the things you have said these last few weeks, shall we?" Heimdall's gentle stroking continued, and Loki tried not to let her guard down – for _surely_ , he would only strike her again when she had.

Loki could not actually recall most of what she had said. What little she could remember, she would just as soon forget. She had said many things, most of them wicked and filthy and foul. Though she'd known that he could hear her, she had said them to an empty room; to say them when he was _right here_ was unthinkable. "Must we?" she asked, feigning boredom instead of anxiety.

His palm hit the backs of her thighs, and she practically howled. "We must," he said, and she gnawed at her lip.

"I _may_ ," she confessed, "have suggested that I wanted your cock in my hands – _hnngh!_ " He spanked her ass again, and she nearly bit down on her tongue, but he just as soon began stroking gently at her skin again. It felt _magnificent_ , she realized, her skin now sensitive even when the pain had stopped.

"And?" Heimdall coaxed, and the throbbing ache between her legs was loosening her tongue.

"I may have _also_ said that I wanted your cock in my mouth – _ah!_ " He spanked her twice for that, and she felt an involuntary tear roll down her cheek. Then he ran his fingers through her hair, and she adjusted her hips, aching to grind against him and find some relief. "And I said that I wanted you to fuck me senseless – _mmf!_ – and to wrap my legs around your waist – _nnnn!_ – and to bury my face in my pillows while you–"

Loki choked and trailed off into whimpering as Heimdall spanked her again and again and again, and she was sure that she'd be bruised by morning. She throbbed with mingled pleasure and pain, and her breathing was ragged as he finally stopped, running his hands over skin that felt raw. The sensible thing to do would have been to apologize, to beg for mercy. Instead she said: "I also suggested holding on to the horns of your helm to keep you still as I rode your face."

Heimdall's hands stilled. "... I don't remember that one."

"... I may have only thought it," she admitted. His hands withdrew.

There was silence, until Loki noticed that Heimdall seemed to be shaking; she rubbed tears from her face with the back of her hand, and looked up at him curiously. He was holding a fist in front of his mouth to muffle it, but he was _laughing_ , the bastard! She immediately tried to make her escape, but he only gathered her into his arms, burying his face in the crook of her neck as she straddled his waist. "You are the most _maddening_ creature," he said, as one hand found its way up her skirt and between her legs. "My _helm?_ " he asked incredulously, even as he slid a finger inside her. She groaned and bucked her hips against his hand.

"I was not in the most sensible of states," she panted, mewling as his fingers curled. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tight as if it would prevent his withdrawing. "And I will _not_ apologize for wanting you," she said defiantly. He pushed another finger into her, then smacked her still sore ass with his free hand. She yelped, bucking her hips and arching her back, tightening around his fingers. "I will _not_ apologize," she continued despite it, clinging tighter, "for my desire or my honesty."

"Foolish girl," he said between his teeth, and she gasped as his thumb began to draw circles around her clit. "Foolish, to tempt me – to tempt fate. You did not _think_."

"I did not," she agreed, almost shyly, rocking her hips. "The first time – it was an accident, that first time." Loki loosened her grip on him as she realized he wasn't going to set her aside, wasn't going to leave her wanting. "It was only that I was thinking of you, and–"

"Flattery," he accused hoarsely, though he could tell that she spoke true. His kissed her, tongue sliding along hers as his fingers pumped inside her, thumb rubbing at her clit. Something inside her was winding itself tight, curling low in her belly. She made a sound of protest, but it was lost in his mouth. He was _cheating!_ She wanted him inside her, wanted him to fill her _properly_.

Yet Loki couldn't seem to stop herself, couldn't stop riding his hand as he worked her toward climax. Heimdall's other hand went to her breasts, and when he tugged at her nipples, she was undone. The tension that had been building in her unwound, burst from her core out to her fingertips and left her shaking.

" _Heimdall_ ," she sighed as he broke the kiss. He withdrew his fingers from her, and she whimpered quietly.

"You cannot _imagine_ what you do to me," Heimdall said, holding her against his chest as he stood. She giggled, resting her head on his shoulder as he carried her to bed.

"Entice you?" she guessed. "Arouse you? Make you hard?" Heimdall tugged the rest of her ribbons free, letting her dressing gown fall to the floor before setting her on the edge of her bed.

"Drive me mad," he murmured as he pulled off his tunic – letting Loki admire his bare chest for the first time. "And, fool that I am, I allowed it."

"You needn't sound so disappointed," she said with a pout. She ached to run her fingers over his skin, to taste every inch of him. She tried to pretend she wasn't admiring the outline of his erection against the fabric of his trousers. "I have had my satisfaction, after all. I could as easily send you away, and let you tend to yourself for another night."

"You are a poor liar, little Silvertongue." This time, when Heimdall kissed her, Loki pressed herself harder against him, crushed her lips against his until she'd sated herself.

" _You_ are the only one who thinks so," she pointed out as her mouth left his. His hands went to her knees to pull them apart, and she could have wept with delight when the tip of his cock slid against her entrance.

" _Good_ ," he said, with surprising passion, and the sound she would have made when Heimdall began to enter her was muffled by another kiss. He pushed into her with an exquisite slowness, for all that she was wet and wanting. Loki would have marveled at his self-control, if she hadn't been busy marveling at the _size_ of him. "Let me be the only one," he said heatedly, "to hear the truth of you." His kisses grew urgent, as if he could not bear to go too long without tasting her. "Let me be the only one to see the depths within your heart." As he buried himself in her finally, she pulled him close, sunk her teeth into his shoulder as she adjusted to this new fullness. He seemed almost not to notice, holding himself still inside her. "Let me be the only one to know the intoxicating madness of you, Loki Odinsdóttir."

He was sweeter than she thought he'd be, larger and gentler and more attentive. She hadn't expected this, any of this: not his words, not the throbbing echoes in her skin where he'd struck her so _perfectly_. She ran the tip of her tongue along the bite she'd left in his skin. Was she imagining that his sweat seemed to glitter like gold?

"I think," she said finally, her voice thick with arousal, "that perhaps I shall _not_ call Fandral."

Heimdall buried his face in the crook of her neck, and she felt him shake with quiet laughter again. Making him laugh was almost as satisfying as making him hard, she realized; she didn't care to examine the implications of that thought, just yet.

"You are a wicked sorceress," he said, as he slowly began to thrust, "to have cast such a spell with only my name." They were only the slightest of motions, but they seemed to ripple through her; his hands went to her hips to stop their impatient movement. "You had me from the first," he said, "from the first time my name escaped you and I heard the wanting in it. Every night I have burned for you, every night I wished to drag you into my bed."

"You lack my courage," Loki teased, and Heimdall's retort was to withdraw nearly entirely, ramming back into her all at once. Her fingernails scratched across the broad expanse of his back, her own back arched as she bit back a scream. Everything inside her seemed to resonate, her nerve endings humming; for a moment, he did not move, listening to the ragged sound of her breathing.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, and she wondered how it was that he was ever able to hurt anything at all.

" _Again_ ," she urged, surprisingly even herself with the ferocity of it. "Do more of _that_." Loki emphasized the point by grinding her hips upward, as if it were possible to drive him deeper.

"As my princess commands," he said with a half-smile, and when Heimdall rammed her again she did not scream so much as sing. If his thrusts seemed timed to match perfectly with the beating of her heart, it was only that her pulse was pounding in his ears, that every sound she made seemed to arrange itself into music. He ran his tongue over each of her nipples in turn, and she groaned, digging her fingers into the comforter and balling her hands into fists.

He leaned back, standing nearly upright as he began thrusting faster. It shouldn't have made a difference, she thought, when he was already deep inside her, and yet somehow it was so much more _intimate_ to see him watching. Was he admiring his handiwork? Could he see the path arousal had taken as it made her skin burn? Could he see the way the throbbing inside her had spread, from between her legs to her lips and fingertips? "Are you enjoying the view?" Loki asked between gasps, instead of any of those things.

"I have seen the nameless spirals of infinite galaxies, the deaths of stars and the births of worlds," he said as his hand went between them to press his thumb against her clit again, "but never have I seen anything lovelier than this." Every muscle in her body seemed to pull tight as a bowstring, her toes curling and her eyes unseeing. Pleasure radiated out from where he filled her, wrapped around her spine and drove all thought from her head. As she finally fell limp and spent, he buried himself with a final thrust; she felt his cock twitch, heat pooling inside her.

" _Flattery_ ," she sighed happily.

"Honesty," he countered, withdrawing from her.

"You cannot mean to leave me?" she asked sadly, reaching limply for him. Heimdall picked her up, set her back down so that she rested comfortably on her pillows.

"I have little need of sleep, little Silvertongue," he apologized, and she made a face at him.

"Only lay with me, a while," she coaxed. "Or am I loathsome to you, now?"

"You know well that you are not," he said sternly, though he did lay beside her and hold her then.

"I know," she agreed, kissing the tip of his nose. "Just as I know that you have a guilty conscience." Loki basked in the warmth of him, pressing her ear to his chest to try and hear his heart beating. "You have debauched me thoroughly, Heimdall."

"Thoroughly?"

"Perhaps not _thoroughly_. Would you like to debauch me more, perhaps?" she offered sweetly.

"Do not tempt me, Loki," Heimdall warned.

"But tempting you has proven such a fruitful endeavor," she protested with a flutter of her eyelashes.

"You may disagree, come morning."

"Will I be coming in the morning?" she asked with feigned surprise.

Heimdall kissed her cheek, and his words were quiet in her ear. "The seats at Odin's table," he reminded her, "are hardly comfortable at the _best_ of times."

Loki froze as she tried to imagine sitting down for breakfast in her current state – or even walking to breakfast, for that matter. "You are a wretched man, Heimdall," she said finally, curling against him with a yawn.

"Utterly," he agreed, running fingers through her hair. He listened as her breathing slowed, watched her limbs fall slack as sleep claimed her.

"May you never know how wretched," he breathed, and it was almost a prayer.


End file.
